


Awakening the Dreamer

by dytabytes



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-10
Updated: 2010-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dytabytes/pseuds/dytabytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Helena hadn't had to wait long for results.</i></p><p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/69265">An End and a Beginning</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakening the Dreamer

When he first awakens, it's as if he's just come out of a very long, restful slumber. It's dark and warm and wet...

_I can't breathe._

At that thought, he gasps, chokes, and strokes upward with his arms, head breaking the surface as he is reborn into the cool darkness of the world. He coughs up acidic liquid, wiping the stuff out of his eyes and face as he leans against the ledge of the strange pit he stands in. Something in the back of his mind tells him that water isn't really supposed to be this particular shade of yellow-green, but he's already been immersed in it. A few more minutes while he catches his breath won't hurt, right?

A prickling at the back of his neck makes his head turn. Someone is watching him.

"H-Hello? Is anyone there?"

~

After throwing the Question's body into Batman's Lazarus pit, Helena hadn't had to wait long for results. The man had resurfaced almost immediately but, strangely, there hadn't been any signs of the madness that Oracle's notes had discussed. Then again, the Question hadn't ever been an example of your average superhero.

_Heck, most people wouldn't consider him to be one of the sane _vigilantes_. I certainly wouldn't. But then, I don't really count as part of that category, do I? I'm too... what's the word the Bat used? Ah, right. I'm too unpredictable. Unstable._

A small self-satisfied smirk flickers over Huntress's face, but before she can go much further down the path of reminiscence, Vic's query splits the air and diverts her attention. After a moment's contemplation, the Huntress decides that it's time to re-introduce herself. She clicks the safety for her crossbow back on, but keeps it ready in her hand as she slowly starts to approach the pit, heels clicking against the stone floor of the cave.

~

The subtle click of heel on stone that grabs his attention. He looks over his shoulder and his eyes widen as a lithe figure fades in from the shadows. The Huntress's smile is a subdued mimicry of her mask's wild grin as she stalks over. For a moment, he is hypnotized by the contrast between those two expressions, mind whirling at the _connections_.

"It's just me, Vic."

And then he's distracted by a much more interesting discovery. Vic! His name is Vic! And hers is-!

~

As if running on some hidden memory that he himself cannot recall, Vic's lips curve into a slow grin.

"It could never be _just_ you, Helena."

Her eyebrow lifts.

"Well someone's quite the charmer."

_That's it, use sarcasm to mask the surprise, Hel. Very smooth._

She'd expected him to be mad, or at least pissed off and delirious. Instead, the man before her is wide-eyed and innocent and trusting and the wrongness of this situation makes her skin itch. The Question is not supposed to be this naive and he's certainly not supposed to be a deep-voiced charmer without a care in the world.

"I don't suppose you're in any hurry to climb out of the pit now, are you?"

Maybe she can tease Vic into getting the hell out of the still-very-creepy waters of the Lazarus Pit.

_God only knows what prolonged exposure to that crap will do to him, after all._

And of course, Vic blushes and tries to hunker down, doing completely the opposite of what she expects him to do. Which, really, she should've known he'd do, because this is Vic Sage, right?

"Oh. Well, I would, only I'm a little naked and it wouldn't be right of me to be prancing around like this in front of-"

Helena clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, turning as she does so.

"There's stuff for you on the side there. I'll just turn around."

As an afterthought, she adds, "You might wanna hurry, though. Batman's patrol won't last forever and we don't exactly have permission to be here."

~

Vic freezes in the middle of climbing out of the pool. Batman. Why does that name sound so familiar? And why, of all things, does it provoke feelings of disgust?

He claws at the foggy wisps of memory that dance just out of his reach even as he pulls on the clothes. The fit of his shoes --_glimpses of hard pavement and neon lights and old patrol routes through back alleys and under flickering lamplight_\-- the stretch of leather between his gloved fingers --_crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles, spray of blood, howl of affronted pain_\-- the rub of his belt against its buckle --_scent of wet dogs scrabbling for scraps in dumpsters as cheap hookers spray perfume and call to their johns_\-- the soft scent of something chemical that wafts about his collar --_a tightening around his eyes and a soft, chemical mist that makes him feel safer than anything else he's ever known_\-- it's as if he's renewing himself layer by layer. By the time he settles his hat back on his head, everything melts and blurrs back where it's supposed to be and fog fills his mind again, but _it's the right fog_.

He's used to this fog, knows how to bend it to his will and use it as a filter to see things how they truly are and not how they want to be.

The Question has returned.

~

There's a grunt from behind her, and Helena knows that he's back the moment that she turns around. It's not the glimmer in his eyes or the change of posture that convinces her that Vic is back in his body. She's a no-nonsense kind of girl and frankly, she doesn't do that kind of crap. It's the way that he cautiously kneels down and tugs the tips off of his shoelaces that seals the deal.

"Sorry Vic, I didn't think to take those off for you."

He shrugs and rubs his face, frowning as his fingers trail over his cheeks.

"Don't worry about it. You don't know the proper way to do it. They'd have regenerated."

He pauses and cocks his head to the side slightly.

"Do you have-?"

She laughs.

"Check your pockets."

Settling his mask on his face is like coming home.


End file.
